Episodes
by westpoints
Summary: COMPLETE Episodes of interaction that occur between Troy and Sharpay, which include the sandbox years up through senior year. Troypay, guys. Reviews would be awesome.
1. A memory

I'm back. I had a couple ideas for conversations, and this was the only thing that I had sufficient knowledge about to use them on. You can't put teenage pettiness into Grey's Anatomy. Doesn't work. If I had to choose, I'd pick Troypay over any other couple. Hence, this.

Disclaimer: I don't particularly want to own HSM, which is why I don't.

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**A memory**

Sharpay Evans is five years old, and she's playing in a sandbox. This is an actual sandbox, with sand in it, and the required broken plastic tools needed to shift the sand around into not very interesting patterns.

A brown-haired boy approaches the sand box, and helps her shovel the sand into what can only be described as "very, very small hills."

"Hi, I'm Sharpay," she says boldly.

"I'm Troy."

"That's a funny name."

"You have a funny name, too," he retorts in defense. She brushes off the insult.

"I'm gonna be the bestest singer actress dancer in the world. I need a funny name."

"I'm gonna be the best basketball player ever. I need a funny name, too." They regard each other solemnly.

The kindergarten teachers yell for them to come in, and Sharpay smiles at Troy.

"Wanna come play in the sandbox tomorrow?" He shrugs, but secretly blushes at the smile, even if girls are gross and this one's mean.

"Sure."

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Yep. It's short. I have six overall, and they're all written. I won't demand a review quota until next chapter.

But, you should review anyway.


	2. An invitation

Yay! Reviews! I'm leaving for the mountains tomorrow, so I'll update twice. Maybe. Meet my review quota and definitely.

Disclaimer: See the chapter before this.

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An invitation

"Hey Sharpay."

"Hey Troy."

Because he stops in the hall she is forced to stop, too.

"Hey, you wanna come over tonight? Pizza and movies," he offers.

"No, I can't," she says distractedly. "I have play practice." His face falls.

"Oh. Oh, um yeah. Sorry, I forgot. Good job. On getting the part, I mean. Seventh grade, and you're already top diva."

"You better believe it," she responds with a smile. "Oh, I forgot too! Basketball team all-star."

"America's future, that's us."

"Well..." she shifts on her feet, eager to get to class.

"Oh, right. Well. I guess...I guess we can hang out some other time. After the musical. And basketball. Y'know."

"Are you coming to the performance?"

"Egh. We have playoffs that week. Coming to any games?"

"We've got practice every night."

"Well. We'll figure something out." They smile at each other.

It's not a fight that ends the whole thing. It's just...spring comes and she's a diva and he's a star and they never acknowledge the fact that Sharpay goes to Ryan first and Troy goes to Chad now.

After the last game and the last performance of the season, they pass each other in the hall again.

"Hey Evans."

"Bolton."

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Lessee...quota: 14 reviews overall and you guys get...a high school episode! Yay!

Actually, since I wrote this one, there are going to be seven chapters.


	3. A conversation

Aech. I'm bumped down to 71st. This just won't do. This just won't do at ALL. So, I have access to the internets up in the mountains, and I'm putting myself back up top. Each little "..." indicates a noticable pause, inserted for the purpose of illustrating thought, awkward silence, or comfortable silence. Or, y'know, because I think ellipses are pretty.

As promised, an episode in high school.

Disclaimer: See chapter one, section disclaimer

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**A conversation**

"You should see Zeke's."

"I don't want to see Zeke's."

"No, but I'm serious. His is pretty big."

"Sharpay, I don't want to hear about Zeke's, and besides, I bet mine's bigger."

"...What?"

"Nothing."

"No, you laughed. What?"

"Nothing!"

"...You _know_ we were talking about shoe sizes!"

"Oh, that makes it much less funny."

"Oh god...Ugh! Troy! Mind! Gutter! Out!"

"Shar, I'm a guy."

"Amazing powers of observation, Bolton...Now what?"

"We just had a pleasant conversation."

"Correction, I just haven't slapped you yet."

"So, are you going to keep this up?"

"Keep what up."

"Pretending to be mean when you really _are_ nice outside of school."

"Bolton, I _am_ an actress. I can fake nice better than anyone else."

"...What say we make this official?"

"Make what official?"

"This...we'll settle our differences and then have hot makeouts thing."

"Who said anything about making out? And what about Gabriella?"

"We never even dated. Well, except once. Last month. And then. Well, you remember how she got hives on opening night?"

"She was that nervous?"

"Absolutely terrified. And she just said...that she wasn't comfortable with this."

"What was the 'this' she was talking about?"

"I, uh, still don't know. I tried talking to her, but she'd never say anything."

"Aw, you deserved it, you idiot. You _know_ she probably only wanted you as a friend."

"Eh, probably. Anyway, I'm dumped, and I didn't think you'd be concerned about her, anyway."

"So I'm the rebound. I'm not. Worried, I mean. I just don't want Science Geek after me."

"Actually--you have a good point."

"Actually what?"

"Nothing."

"Troy Bolton! Are you saying that I am the rebound?"

"No, no! No! Never, Sharpay. God help the man that uses Sharpay as a rebound, for she will make like a great--figure of sexiness."

"Nice save."

"I try...This has been a good summer. Getting to know my ex-girlfriend again."

"I was never you girlfriend!"

"You sound like you resent that."

"I do! Very much. You've gone through so many girls you can't even remember the ones you've dated!"

"You manage to twist every word I say against me."

"Well, don't sound all unhappy about it. Tell me, do you wear that grin when you're drowning puppies?"

"...Do people ever tell you that you're beautiful?"

"Mm, everyday, but the wording is usually 'incredibly hot.'"

"You're amazing."

"Get in line, Bolton."

"Come to prom with me."

"Go do the what with you? Oh god."

"If someone heard you right then. You walked into that one."

"I did."

"Come to prom with me."

"Troy, it's next _year_. Like, nine months from now. We're only going to be juniors; there is nothing official about this."

"Now who's talking about official?"

"That doesn't count."

"Oh, so it only counts when I say it?"

"Yep. Suck it."

"Are you offering to?"

"Oh! Oh! Eugh! In your dreams!"

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I have to admit, I was not the first one to come up with the God-awful line, "In your dreams!" but it's useful.

Guys are _so _perverted.

Quota: 20. I know you guys can do 7 reviews again.


	4. A dream

Mm, thank you for the loverly reviews. This is your reward

Disclaimer: See chapter one.

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**A dream**

It's the last day of freshman year, and Troy is headed towards his locker, readying himself for the ultimate cleaning out of any storage area. Sharpay stands next to said storage, holding a bottle of Lysol, which is strange, not because she wouldn't be caught dead near anything so filthy, but because she hates the smell of Lysol.

He remembers that from seventh grade, when they first started...well, when they first stopped hanging out.

But anyway. She smiles at him, and he manages a smile back. He proceeds with emptying his locker of papers, Gatorade bottles, old socks, a banana peel, and...a very old container of cheesefries. She chokes and makes him promise that he'll let her clean his locker every week next year.

But she doesn't scream at the filth, and he's happy, because this is the Sharpay that exchanged sweat with him on the basketball courts, this is the Sharpay that gladly snarfed Oreos every chance she got, this is the Sharpay that teased her twin brother and wished he'd leave her alone. This is the childhood friend Sharpay.

They have a conversation, the particulars of which he doesn't remember on waking, except that it was funny (not journalistically funny, just...comedian funny), and they laugh, and it seems like the entire hall is empty because he can hear their voices echoing off the walls.

And then, because he's brave in this sleep, he steps a little closer to his dream Sharpay and kisses her, once. Very chaste, very third grade, very much like the ones they used to steal under the cafeteria tables in elementary school, when having boyfriends and girlfriends just meant exchanging sticky-sweet pecks on the lips every chance they got. But no one ever remembers what they taste like until several hours later, when they lick their own lips and wonder why they're wearing strawberry-flavored lip gloss.

Well, maybe that part's not in elementary school. Anyway, then he realizes that he likes strawberry-flavored lip gloss, and wishes that he could steal more. But when he rocks backward on his feet and looks at her nervously, all he can see is the third grade Sharpay who shared kisses with him under the cafeteria tables, only taller, but just as cute, and when she smiles, he can only muster a twitch at the corners of his mouth, because this isn't the freshman Sharpay, this is his best friend Sharpay, and they're not the same person anymore, and then he wakes up.

And Troy Bolton realizes that he wants to kiss freshman Sharpay every bit as much as he does best friend Sharpay, but he would regret that kiss, which probably wouldn't taste like strawberries, anyway.

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It makes no sense. I know. It's a dream. But aw, who doesn't want to know what the elementary Troy and Sharpay did under the cafeteria tables?

Anyway. Quota is set for...27? Sure, 27.

27 reviews before the next chapter. You guys have all day to do it, and then I'll break out my other elementary kid chapter. No, there are no cafeteria tables. Tell all your friends.


	5. A flashback

Yay! 10 reviews! You guys are **awesome**. Short little guy, but still a bit fun. For me, at least. Elementary kids!

nneessssaa: in regards to your question, it was both. They just spent so much time apart that they stopped considering each other as friends.

Disclaimer: Refer to chapter un.

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**A flashback**

Sharpay Evans has curled her hair for the first time, and she glares at Troy Bolton, daring him to make any unkind remarks in regards to her blond ringlets.

He gulps. Even in the fifth grade, he has learned to respect the power of the Sharpay Eye. Rumor has it that it's worse than the Evil Eye. No one knows what the Evil Eye looks like, but everyone would prefer that to the intense scrutiny that Troy is subjected to now.

"Well?" she demands. She has asked him if he thinks her new style looks good.

"It um. It's. New. I...like it. Very...pretty." In truth, she has too many ringlets, and looks very much like a shrubbery.

She smiles at him. "I know," she says smugly.

He smiles back. He likes it when she smiles. But he likes it even better when he plays basketball, and he wishes she would release him so he can play with his dad. Well, he used to play with her, but then she got...well.

First there was dancing, singing, obsessions with..._RENT_.

And now there's makeup and hair curling and pink and making _him_ judge her. They were childhood friends, but..._this_.

Sharpay rolls her eyes. "Fine, fine, go."

And they laugh for no reason.

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Mmhmm. The last two are longer, I swear. Or at least more satisfying.

So, in regards to that...I know, this isn't enough, but I like to get reviews on all of my chapters. So. If you guys can muster up 5 for this guy, I will update. PROM CHAPTER! PROM! Ah, the prom.

Anyway. 35 reviews.


	6. A photograph

YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME. Thank you **so** much for reviewing! So, as a reward, the Prom chapter, as promised.

As you can probably tell if you ever read my other fics, I love doing pre-movie/book or post. I really hate doing "Right as they left off" ones. And I like doing post better than pre, although most Grey's fics are pre. Anyway. This is one of my favorites.

Disclaimer: Je n'ai pas any part of HSM. I'm horrible at French.

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**A photograph**

They're seniors, and somehow, they've both managed to go to prom dateless. Or, at least, completely single, without a single lingering of a commitment, because they _are_ each other's dates, and neither sets of parents really comprehend the match. They're childhood friends because they played in the same sand box, not because their parents thought it would be nice if their little tots got married. Quite the contrary, actually.

So, the obligatory posed pictures with the held-for-too-long smiles and the stiff postures are forgone by the parentals, and the real prom photos that are developed show two seniors laughing and grabbing at each other's arms.

A few minutes after the prom starts, Sharpay makes a girl cry.

"Why are you always so mean?"

"What are you talking about?"

"She was scared out of her mind!"

"And then she stabbed _herself_ in the eye with her eyeliner!"

"Bitch."

"Asshole."

"It's not my fault she's so jumpy. I just wanted to borrow some bronzer."

"I won't ask."

And even though they're single, and have no commitments, and therefore dance for most of the night, they mostly dance with each other. Well, she most certainly couldn't dance with Ryan. Incestuous laws and such. They'd certainly apply if Sharpay and Ryan were as close as she and Troy are.

"Miss Evans, what is that you're doing with your...hips...?"

"Mister Bolton, where exactly are your hands going?"

"Point taken."

"Horny pervert."

"Hot slut."

"That's not very nice." He smiles, hovering right above her lips.

"Well, you're not a very nice person." She smiles back.

"Neither are you." And then he kisses her, once, chastely, and they just spend the rest of the time swaying, grinning against each other's mouths. He discovers that she does wear strawberry-flavored lip gloss.

A few hours later, they're sitting on her roof, slightly cold and still wearing their prom clothes. Sharpay shivers slightly at the light breeze, the folds of her blue-purple dress flapping around her. Troy offers her his navy jacket. The sleeves reach past her fingertips.

"You're short."

"Shut up." He rests his chin on top of her head. "And you don't have to rub it in."

She burrows her face against the crook of his neck. "The...stars are...beautiful," he says. She raises an eyebrow that he doesn't see.

"Bolton?"

"Yeah?"

"Grow a pair and kiss me, already." He happily complies. "We should take a picture of this."

"Of what?"

"Of the school king and the school bitch, sitting on the roof and not wasted. I'm surprised." He laughs.

"Wench."

"Manwhore."

And he takes the camera that's sitting between their legs and snaps a picture, of the two of them giddily happy and totally not stoned, in the throes of teenage love and really bad romance-novel jargon. They're already committed to each other without once saying it out loud, without once even consciously acknowledging it, and there's a picture to prove that.

That's the picture that covers up the prom photo in the photo album.

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This will undoubtedly make many of you happy. It made me happy.

Yes, getting wasted is a fine tradition as a senior at Prom. YOU'RE SENIORS. You're allowed to celebrate so that your few sober classmates can perform the college tradition of drawing embarrassing things on your face.

As you can tell, I had a hella awesome time at prom. I'm not a senior.

quota: 45! Yes, I'm getting ambitious. There's only one more chapter!


	7. A beginning

Aw, the last one! Thanks for all the reviews, guys. Especially MONDERLING MOOFOOT, who wrote the most comprehensive, most detailed, most extensive review I have _ever_ recieved, and kept me entertained throughout the whole thing. I love hearing "I loves." You, my friend, are insane, and it's awesome.

**Okay. This is important. Kind of. Now that I'm basically done with all my projects except for one which I've got writer's block on, I am accepting challenges. Gimme something. Anything. Except Troyella. No Troyella for you. I may even do Tryan. Anyway, the more challenging they are, the more likely it shall be that I do it. I'm picking two. I realize this this whole little bold section was horribly written and very rambling, but NOW YOU KNOW how much work it takes for me to make my writing coherent. That's right. Five minutes of proofreading.**

Disclaimer: If you don't know by now...

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**A beginning**

They're lounging on her bed, sheets twisted around them. She rests her head against his chest, and he strokes her hair.

"You're going to UCLA?" he asks.

"And hanging out on street corners every weekend, smoking pot and waiting for my big break," she says dryly.

"And I'm going to UConn."

"And playing basketball and getting wasted every night."

"Yep. We are the future of America." They laugh. "What happened here?"

"What do you mean?"

"How did we get here?"

"Well, it was my parents' fifth anniversary. They married young. My mother was wearing a—"

"Okay, smartass. How did we go from Wildcat Superstar and IcePrincess to ordinary guy and funny, considerate girl?"

"How did we ever get such stupid nicknames?"

"Maybe I'll leave out considerate."

"Bolton, you ass."

"You know you want some." She slaps his stomach. "But I mean. Where do we go from here?"

"We go to college," Sharpay says, in a "you're turning into Ryan" voice.

"I mean...where do we go from..." He made a vague gesture.

"Circles. Pointing. The Finger. Giving up. Doing—oh, right, laying in bed after having hot sex. Well, it's not like we're official or anything."

"Well, what if we were official?" She stiffens.

"Do you want to be?"

"Do you?" She sits up suddenly, the sheets shifting around her.

"That doesn't answer the question," she says sharply. She notices his gaze. "Troy!"

"Sorry. I don't know. It would just...it would just be a lot easier if we could just say yeah, we're official, or no, how we acted school was how we always acted. I mean...nobody at school even knows about this."

"And look how well this is going! Honestly, I think keeping this a secret was the greatest idea I've come up with in a long time." He raises his eyebrows, as if to say You came up with it? To which she raises her eyebrows back, as if to say Yes, yes I did. But the quizzical look doesn't go away,and she sighs."Okay then." She reaches up and takes the hand resting in her hair. "We're official."

"What, just like that?" She lies back down beside him and scowls.

"I'm sorry, would you like to go through an awkward phase and a Walk of Shame and accidentally touching and embarrassingly compromising situations?"

"No, but...we're going to college in three months." She squeezes his hand.

"Then we better figure out how to make that work. Officially, of course."

And they lace their fingers in painful grips and stare at each other, contentedly in love although the confessions have never crossed their lips, wondering how they got here from the sandbox and sneaking kisses under tables, wondering what the Hell they're going to do now, waiting for something to happen.

Something always happens.

-end-

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So, no, this does not have the same ending as "Chocolate Bars Chronicles," which you should read, by the way, it's a TSLoZaC fic. Yep, I'm a guilty pleasure Disney junkie.

No review quota, but you should do it, anyway.

**Remember: Once in a lifetime opportunity, at least until I get another break and end up bored. Challenges!**


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